A Father is Born
by FPinFC
Summary: Fleshes out Greg and Dean's first meeting from "Jumping at Shadows," then goes beyond to imagine their get-acquainted father-son time that evening. Also proposes a reason why Greg Parker speaks Italian (as shown in "Slow Burn").
1. Chapter 1 - The Heartbroken Monster

Chapter 1

The Heartbroken Monster

Dean Parker stepped off the bus and craned his neck at all of the buildings towering over him.

He'd grown tall in the midst of tall buildings; spending his early years here in Toronto, and the rest of his life in Dallas. But somehow the skyscrapers seemed threatening today.

His father...a smudgy half-memory, the object of his loving mother's intense hatred..._that man_ worked in one of those buildings.

Dean consulted his phone and headed toward the building it indicated. Once inside, he was sure to find a directory that would tell him which floor he needed.

He comforted himself that, in a way, this was absurdly simple. All too easy. A bus ride, a short walk, a push of an elevator button, and he could face his fears, bolster his self-respect, increase the peace in his home...

...and totally upset the father he barely remembered.

_What will I do if he gets angry? If he yells?_

He hadn't let himself question his plans yet today. He feared that his resolve wasn't strong enough to face the challenge. So he'd simply practiced his spiel and imagined good outcomes in order to bolster his courage.

But now his resolve wavered mightily.

_Just do it. Get it over with. You'll feel so much better when it's done._

He walked into the building, consulted the directory, and stepped onto the elevator.

_It will be worth it. It will. It will._

_It's really the kindest thing to do, anyway._

_I can't believe I'm really doing this._

The elevator door opened onto his floor all too soon.

The room that met his eyes was imposing, to say the least. He couldn't really take the time to register everything, though, because he saw a large reception desk with a uniformed woman behind it.

_That's the place to start. Just get it over with._

A buzz of mostly masculine voices came from somewhere just out of sight.

Dean's stomach tightened. _One of those might be my father._

The woman at the desk seemed friendly, if her smile and polite tone on the phone meant anything. He steeled himself and walked up to her domain, trying to look confident.

The woman hung up the phone, and then quickly acknowledged him. "Hi, can I help you?"

"Uh...yeah..."

_So much for confidence!_

His next words came out in a rush, as if they needed to gain enough speed to vault over his defenses.

"I'm here to see Greg Parker?" He hadn't meant to make it sound like a question, but it kind-of did. _Maybe he's not in today._

"Sure, can I tell him who it is?"

_That means he's here!_ Dean's stomach tightened, but he had too much momentum to stop now.

Out of the corner of his eye he saw a man approaching, but he didn't let himself pay attention yet. This was scary enough without his father surprising him.

"Yeah, um, Dean...Parker."

The woman's eyes darted instantly to the man in the periphery, so Dean had to turn to see him.

The man stared at him, slack jawed. "Hey..." the man whispered, and then, finding his voice, "Hey," again. His eyes took in every inch of Dean's face, and the shock in his expression left Dean in no doubt of who this was.

_Shouldn't he look more familiar?_

Dean didn't know what he'd been expecting, but this soft-spoken, middle-aged, balding man wasn't it.

"Uh, hey," Dean returned. Evidently awkward babbling was contagious.

"What are you doing here? I mean...it's good to...I just didn't know you were coming, I uh...it's good to see you..."

"Yeah," Dean replied. His skin crawled.

And then came the most unexpected thing in the world.

His father reached out, briefly touched the back of his head, wrapped his arms around his shoulders, pulled him close.

Hugged him.

Somehow Dean had never imagined that.

Nor had he ever dreamed of the emotion he heard in his father's breathing, every breath catching in something like a suppressed sob.

Dean slowly, tentatively let his hands rest on the backs of his father's shoulders, but he didn't return the pressure, didn't make it a real hug like the one his father was giving him.

His father's hug lasted a while, too. Awkwardly long. He even rested a hand on the back of Dean's head, a touch that seemed oddly tender coming from a stranger.

And yet, somehow, this was not a stranger.

Dean found himself patting his father's back, because he didn't know what else to do.

When his father finally broke off the hug, he still seemed overwhelmed by the need to be close to Dean. He cupped Dean's neck, clapped his shoulders, touched his face. His expression of shock gave way to a smile.

A tearful smile.

Still more touches. The smile growing broader. The breath still catching.

The eyes, moist and full...

Dean had to get this back under control. This was nothing like he'd imagined, and the only way he knew to handle the emotion of the moment was to get down to the business at hand.

"Yeah, um, we were just up visiting Shelby...my aunt."

His father nodded vigorously. "Yeah, yeah, I know who Shelby is, I know. But why didn't you tell me?"

Dean shook his head and stammered, "I...I didn't want to call first...I...thought I might back out." He'd had no intention of confessing that, but out it came.

But of course he'd lost his bearings! How could he not feel disoriented by this supposed monster with gentle eyes who held him tenderly, this stranger who wept for the love of him? This demon from his past who was, after all, just a man...flesh and blood in Dean's arms...heartbreakingly vulnerable in a uniform of power...how could he not make Dean's thoughts whirl and his plans crumble?

_I have to do this. _He shored up his tottering resolve.

"Does your mom know you're here?" his father asked.

"No, she...she thinks I'm at a movie."

"She doesn't know you're here." His father's eyes turned downward, and his whole expression fell. Dean wasn't sure why, but he didn't really want to explore that side of things now.

"Do you think there's someplace we could go and talk?" Dean asked.

"Yeah!" A single syllable packed with enthusiasm. "Yeah, c'mon." He placed his hand briefly onto Dean's shoulder again, then began walking ahead. He kept his body turned awkwardly toward Dean for the first several steps, as if he were unwilling to take his eyes off of him. But he finally straightened himself around and led the way.

They sat down, and Dean studied his father's face. He still found it so surprising, and kind-of sad, to be honest. His mother had made this man seem larger-than-life in his supposed evil. And though Dean was very glad that the impression of evil was rapidly fading, he was sad to see the "larger-than-life" disappearing as well. His eyes appraised all the signs of middle-age as only youth can see it, and he felt sorry for the man.

_No way. I can't let pity stop me. I have to put an end to this, for all our sakes._

"Um...I...look, this is hard to say..."

His father's eyes widened briefly, and then almost instantly shuttered themselves behind a wall of guardedness.

Dean dragged in a deep sigh and plunged ahead. "I really appreciate that you want to be back in touch, but...it just won't work out. I mean...I have a family that I love, and we were going along just fine, and...and everybody has gotten all upset since you filed that suit. And...and..." suddenly he couldn't look at his father anymore. "Look...I'm sixteen years old, and I don't want to be forced to have another father. I already have a father, and I love him. I'm even planning to take his last name. So I'm here to ask you to drop the lawsuit. Please."

Dean hadn't actually made up his mind to change his last name. He'd never mentioned it to his stepdad, either. But he definitely had been considering it for a little while.

He looked back up at his father, and he thought his own heart would break right along with his. But the pain only spurred him along, pushing him to bring the whole agonizing episode to a close.

"I thought I should tell you in person," he continued as gently as he could. "You know...it'd be the right thing to do."

Right now he regretted the personal code of honor that had brought him here. Maybe his cousin had been right, when they'd talked it over this morning. Dylan had wanted him to just send a letter to the SRU station and be done with it. But Dean had told him, "I couldn't respect myself if I did that. The guy deserves to hear it from me, face-to-face. After all, they say it's really lame to break up with a girl over text or email. You've got to have the courage to look them in the eye, you know? How much more honorable should you be about breaking up with your father?"

His father looked into his eyes, briefly but deeply, and then turned away to stare into an abyss that no eye could see. He said nothing. His face wore a blank mask, but underneath that mask Dean saw a deep reservoir of pain.

Not anger. Pain. The same shocky pain that he'd seen in his friend Larry's eyes when his older brother had drowned in the family pool. A pain that has no words. Pain that reviews the facts, tries to grasp them, nods in rare moments of clarity, but then trails off, defeated, unable to fathom its own depth.

His father seemed to have folded in on himself.

He was mourning. Mourning for his son.

_Mourning for me._

Next - Chapter 2: The Way to a Son's Heart


	2. Chapter 2 - The Way to a Son's Heart

Chapter 2

The Way to a Son's Heart

Without warning, the receptionist's voice filled the deathly silence and commanded attention. In a moment Dean realized that she was far more than a receptionist; she was a dispatcher, and her words put life back into Dean's father.

"Team One, hot call, gear up!" An annoying claxon sounded.

His father jumped to his feet. "Just hold on," he murmured to Dean.

The once quiet room had exploded into action, with people running, grabbing things, acting with a decisive purpose that was largely inscrutable to Dean.

The air now felt electric.

His father had run closer to the desk, but then stopped and called out, "Winnie?"

"Shots fired, in progress," she clarified.

His father came back to him. "I'm sorry, I've gotta do this."

Dean stood. 'Yeah, right. Of course you do." He felt surprised by the bitterness he heard in his tone, but almost immediately recognized it. It was his mother's bitterness, which he'd heard every time she'd talked about how his father's stupid job had always taken precedence over her.

He started to walk toward the door, but his father kept pace with him. "No, no...just wait here for me."

"I...I should really go." Dean didn't even slow down his pace. Now that it was done, he just wanted out.

"No, please, please..." his father moved around in front of him, blocking his path so he would stop. "Please," he said again, making full eye-contact, with a gaze that seemed to reach far into Dean's heart.

If he had been angry, or pushy, Dean would have found him easy to resist. But this gentle, oh-so-softly-spoken plea melted him. He knew that his father was leaving the choice up to him, and yet he desperately wanted Dean to choose to stay.

"All right," he acquiesced. "The movie's over in an hour."

"All right, thanks." Still no bitterness, no sarcasm, no force of will. It was humility.

But it was a powerful thing.

His father turned to the dispatcher. "Winnie?"

Evidently, Winnie was a mind-reader. Last time he'd spoken her name, she'd given him the details of the call. This time, she agreed to keep an eye on Dean.

"Feed me on the fly," his father said to her (whatever that meant), and loped away.

Winnie replied, "Copy that."

His father disappeared through the same doorway where the rest of the team had already gone. The same doorway that had brought Dean into his father's arms, and had watched him tell those arms and those eyes that they weren't wanted.

Dean felt a little queasy, but he buried it under the belief that it was all for the best.

"C'mon, pull up a bench, hang with me," Winnie invited with a little smile. And then she began interacting with people over the radio, which she soon turned onto speaker mode so that Dean could hear their voices, too.

The only voice he knew was his father's.

The radio traffic soon became so fascinating...and sometimes terrifying...that Dean forgot about the clock altogether.

The recorded 911 call chilled him to the core. He'd never heard a child scream like that before, with such a depth of mortal terror.

He heard the team brainstorming, trying to figure out what was going on.

The child was missing. Her mother was shot, but still alive. There were dangerous men on the loose.

Neighbors answered the officers' questions.

Shots rang out without warning, and Dean's heart leapt out of his chest.

He felt oddly compelled to tell Winnie that those had been gunshots, though of course she knew it better than he did. But how could he not blurt it out, when it was the first time he'd ever heard gunshots directed at human beings, instead of at tin cans or squirrels...and his father was right in the fray?

His jaw dropped as he heard his father commanding the team to try to bring the shooter in alive...as if keeping someone alive were just one possible option. _I guess it is, in this case_.

_A man's life is in my father's hands. _

Dean's heart pounded at all of the loud, angry shouting, commanding the shooter to put his gun down. His father's voice was strong now, nothing like the gentle tones that he'd used with Dean.

Excitement gave way to pure stress when multiple guns barked loudly, and he knew his father was firing one of them.

At a man.

But Winnie had explained that they were not going to kill the man, so that made it more bearable.

Soon he began to feel like he was living in a mystery movie. The team members searched out clues, extrapolated, followed trails.

Cared.

That was the part that caught his ear the most right now. His father was talking to a freaked-out 911 dispatcher, and he was back to being wonderfully gentle.

Winnie explained to Dean about profiling, and then told him that his father was better at it than anyone.

Dean's eyes narrowed. "Really?" All of his people-reading skills...skills which sometimes gave his friends the creeps...now focused on her face and posture.

"Really," she replied.

He could clearly see that she meant it.

The 911 operator sounded terribly traumatized, and Dean found deep admiration growing for his father as he listened to the way he drew the woman out. Somehow, his gentleness imparted strength.

And then his father's quiet, heartfelt words pulled Dean's own heart right out of his chest.

"This job...that doesn't make things easier. You just have to survive other people's losses, every day. People who deserve to live, like your daughter. People who trust you, people who get close to you, people who depend on you. And then sometimes...sometimes those people just go away. So what's the point? Why let anyone matter, right? Your job, and my job...and how precious it is to find someone, someone pure...someone real, like a friend, in the middle of all this mess, right?"

He went on to say more things, but Dean didn't hear the rest.

He knew he'd just heard his father's pain over the loss of his son. He'd heard his father's heart cry for people not to go away; for people to be that 'precious, pure friend' in the middle of the mess. He'd heard his father's temptation to close down his heart, to not let anyone matter anymore.

And Dean could not bear it. He had to walk away from the desk, almost reeling from the impact of those words. Those vulnerable, broken-hearted words from a man who was busy giving strength to someone else whose heart was also breaking. A man who, just a short time ago, had strongly shouted at...and then shot at...a would-be child murderer.

_Who is my father?_

_How can the same man be so...so vulnerable and so strong at the same time? How can he hurt so much and yet give so much in the same breath?_

Eventually Dean returned to the desk, listening in awe to the ever-increasing drama of this story. It seemed that everyone, on both sides of the law, had guns drawn now. Officers, and villains, and even the child's distraught father issued threats.

An officer made promises to the father.

Anger and pain filled the air.

And, in another part of town, the child was in danger again.

A shot made Dean jump. This was a lone shot, not like the volley from before.

Winnie seemed to want to keep the truth from Dean, but she told him anyway. His father had shot the man who was about to shoot the little girl.

_That man is dead._

_My father killed him._

Dean wandered away from the desk, from the place where he had first heard his father's soft voice, first felt his father's tender embrace, first seen his father tears. He made his way back to the table where he had sat and forced his father's wide-open heart to shut down again.

The middle-aged, bald man he'd been pitying had just gently strengthened a woman, compassionately tracked down and saved a child, and powerfully killed a man. The latter still made Dean tingle with something like horror, even though he knew his father had been right to do it.

_I read him all wrong. There's nothing pitiful about him._

_But who is he?_

An image began to coalesce in his mind.

_He is what he needs to be in the moment. But not like a chameleon, or an actor putting on costumes and playing roles. He's more real than that._

_So who is he?_

Dean looked back toward the dispatch desk, and then back to the briefing room table again, seeing in each place the face that would be etched in his heart forever.

_I don't know who he is, except that he's a man, and he's my father, and I need to know him._

Dean waited for the team's return, mostly keeping to himself. Right now he felt too raw for human contact...at least with any humans other than one.

But Winnie did call him back to the desk, briefly, to explain that the team would come back without his father at first. She explained about the SIU, and told him she had no idea how long it would take. He nodded, and walked wordlessly back to the huge plate glass windows overlooking the city.

He thought he heard Winnie quietly telling the team, over the mic, that he was still here, and that he seemed to want to be left alone. But he let the words pass through his consciousness without really attending to them.

But then a new realization hit him, hard. _I should have been home from the movie ages ago! My family's going to be worried to death! And when they find out where I've been..._

He pulled his phone out of his pocket, and his anxiety rose at the sight of multiple missed calls from his stepfather's cellphone. He quickly called back, and grimaced at the worry he heard in that good man's voice.

"Dean, son, I was really getting worried. Why didn't you pick up?"

"I had my phone muted, I'm sorry."

"Buddy, I've been covering for you, because I didn't want your mom to worry. But pretty soon I was going to have to raise the alarm. Please don't scare me like that again!"

"I'm sorry, Dad." For the first time, it felt strange calling him, "Dad." That word had taken on a new ambivalence for him today. Not that he would ever allow his stepdad to be displaced. He loved him too much. But "Dad" no longer belonged just to him.

He couldn't even process that feeling right now.

"Dad, I have a confession to make, and please don't be mad."

A brief pause. "I'm listening."

"I came to SRU headquarters and met my...my birth father."

"You WHAT?"

"I know, I know, but I _had_ to, Dad! I wanted to tell him face-to-face that I wanted him to drop the lawsuit. I knew you guys wouldn't approve, but I just had to do it this way. I'm sorry."

He heard his stepfather take in a long, slow breath, and release it just as slowly.

"Well...I gotta admire you for doing that, son. How did it go?"

"Not at all like I expected. I've changed my mind about him. I...I really like him, Dad. I feel like I need to get to know him better."

Another deep sigh from his stepfather.

"He's out on a call right now. I just heard him and his team save a little girl's life. But it's more than that, Dad. I got to talk to him a little bit before he went out on the call, and...and I just need to know him. If he's willing to spend more time with me after he gets back, I'm going to do it. I'll leave it up to you what you tell Mom..._if_ you tell Mom. I know I'm going to have to face the music when I get back, and that's okay. It took courage to come meet my father, and I know I've got the courage to face the consequences." He felt his spine stiffening even as he said it.

Yet another long, slow sigh. But words followed this one.

"Dean...aw, Son! You sure do put me in a corner sometimes. But I think I understand, I really do. Now, I'm worried for you. I won't lie. I've never heard anything good about that man. Just the mention of him can make your sweet mother hit the ceiling, so you watch yourself. You call me right away if you need me to come get you, you hear me?"

"I will...but I won't need to. He's a good man, Dad. I'm sorry Mom can't believe that, but I can tell he's not what she thinks he is. Maybe he was once, but not now."

"I hope for your sake you're right. I hate to see your heart broken, Son." He paused. "I'll keep it from your mom for now, but only for now. I'll play it by ear...but we're only going to keep it from her until tomorrow morning at the latest. You've got to keep above-board with this, Dean. You hear me?"

"Yes sir. That's how I want it, too."

A sudden murmur of voices told him that the team had returned. "I've got to go, okay, Dad?"

"Okay, Son. Take care."

He hung up, then blew out his cheeks in a heavy sigh.

The team's muted voices caught his ear now, and in a way they embarrassed him, because he knew he was the reason they were walking on eggshells. But then one officer, a young man, walked over to him. "Hey, uh...it's Dean, right?"

"Yeah, Dean Parker." _Well that was brilliant, dumbhead_._ Of course he knows who you are!_

"Well, I hope you don't mind, but we need to debrief...you know, discuss what happened on our call. We kinda need this room, the table..."

Dean jumped a little, feeling like an intruder. "Oh, I'm sorry!"

"No, no, no problem," the officer reassured him with a kind smile and an outstretched, placating hand. "It's good that you're here. But let me show you where we have a TV. You can watch something while you wait for your dad."

"Okay, thanks."

Dean was sorry to find that the TV was too far from the briefing area to allow him to eavesdrop. The whole idea of the debriefing sounded fascinating. He tried, and failed, to work up the nerve to get closer. But he didn't bother turning on the TV.

_I wonder what they think of me, what they've heard about me._ _Did my dad tell them how I treated him?_ _They must hate me if he did._

But, for whatever it was worth, he hadn't felt any hostile vibes coming from the officer who had spoken to him, or from any of the others who had nodded and smiled on their way past him to the big table. And Dean tended to trust his gut about such things. He always had. Nobody, not even his mom or stepdad, seemed to be able to read people the way he could. He didn't understand the talent, but right now he appreciated it even more than usual.

The team talked intensely for a while, clearly discussing the case. But after a while they relaxed, and their body language said it was over. And then, almost as one, they stood and walked over toward someone or something.

Dean moved quickly to see what they saw. And there was his dad, in plain clothes, walking to meet the team. He didn't seem to have seen Dean.

"How are you?" One officer, vaguely familiar, asked his dad.

"Good debriefing without me?" his dad responded.

The officer just nodded, and then a female officer asked his dad, "How'd it go?"

His dad shrugged minutely. "It was good. Protocol. Ongoing."

And then the somewhat-familiar officer said, "Hey," and jerked his head over toward where Dean was standing.

His father turned, saw him, and then turned back to his friends with an expression that not even Dean could read (though the angle didn't give him a favorable view).

The whole team looked at his father with deep affection, profound tenderness, and an obvious understanding of the delicacy of the moment.

_These people sure don't see him the way my mother sees him!_

The team turned and left, no doubt wanting to give father and son their space. But one officer, the slightly familiar one, stayed behind. He said, "C'mon," almost guiding Dean's father to turn and face his son. Then he hovered close to his father, but not close enough to violate family privacy. Dean couldn't help thinking that he was exuding protective vibes.

_He's here to look out for my dad. They all think I'm going to hurt him more. _

_They have no idea what the last few hours meant to me._

Dean's father began talking as he approached. "Hey, I'm sorry, man...I...I..." He shrugged. "Sorry I had to take off like that."

Dean studied the face of the gentle man who had just shot another. _You don't look like a killer._

"That girl...is she okay?" he asked.

His father turned and looked at Winnie, who nodded at him.

"Yeah, yeah, yeah, she's gonna be okay." His father smiled now.

"That's good."

Dean could hardly stand the feeling in his gut right now...the antsy, crawly need to undo the wrongs he'd done, to connect with this man, to make things right before it was too late. _Too late_ felt unbearable.

The conversation lagged, and the familiar officer seemed to take that as some sort of cue. He turned and joined them. "Hey, buddy, remember me...Ed?"

Dean focused on him, straining to remember.

His father's smile now came easily in the presence of what was obviously a treasured friend. "He used to have hair," he teased, reaching up to pat the top of Ed's head.

"C'mon," Ed encouraged him with an open smile, a smile that touched a warm place which had roots in the deep past.

The memory struck suddenly. "Oh yeah, um...we used to go over to your place...

Ed nodded. "That's right."

Another memory made Dean nod and smile a little. "Clark?"

"That's right, you guys are the same age, good."

"You had that, uh, golf course behind your place, right?"

Ed seemed truly pleased, and nodded his approval.

"Yeah, we used to steal golf balls when people got 'em on the green," Dean confessed.

Both men chuckled.

"So, how's the life of crime goin'?" Ed asked.

Dean couldn't help giving them a full smile now. "Eh," he shrugged. "Pulled back a bit."

"That's good to hear." Ed reached to shake his hand. "Good to see you again."

"You too."

Ed gave his father a few thumps on the shoulder and turned to leave. And, though Dean had enjoyed seeing him, he was happy to see him go. He wanted privacy with his father, but that wasn't the only reason. _He trusts me. He wouldn't leave, otherwise._

_I think Dad can sense the change, too._

"Yeah, I'll see you later," his father called after Ed. When he turned back, he seemed reluctant to meet Dean's eyes for a few moments, and Dean started to worry again.

But then his dad opened up and faced him. "You hungry? Buy you a pizza?"

Dean felt hope and fear welling up at the same time. _Yes! He wants to spend more time with me...but I can't say the things I need to say to him in some stupid pizza joint! And tonight's my only chance with him until who knows when..._

He could hardly believe the words that came out of his own mouth. "You got any pasta? I could make something..."

His father seemed amazed, but in only the most positive of ways. "You cook?"

Dean shrugged. "Well, I cook pasta." It was true, barely.

"I'll just get my coat, all right?"

"All right."

His father turned to get his coat from wherever it was, and Dean took another long, slow look around this place that had so changed his life.

And then his father was beside him, and his hand came down gently on Dean's shoulder.

They left together through that same, fateful door.

Next: Chapter 3 – Every Heart's a Foreign Land


	3. Chapter 3 - Every Heart's a Foreign Land

Chapter 3

Every Heart's a Foreign Land

"Nice car."

Dean really didn't care too much for sedans. He was more into sports cars. But it seemed the right thing to say.

"Thanks," his father replied, fumbling with his key fob. The locks popped up, and they climbed in.

Only then did the reality of this excursion fully hit him. _I'm going to his house. Or apartment. Or whatever it is._

_My mom's going to kill me when she finds out._

_Maybe I'd better make sure she never does._

_But no, that wouldn't be right..._

"Something wrong, Dean?"

Dean jumped a little. "Uh, no, no, not at all."

"Hmm." His father didn't sound at all convinced, but he didn't pursue it.

"Um...is your place far from here?"

"Not really. A few miles."

"That's good."

_Why are things suddenly so awkward?_ He answered his own question as soon as he asked it. _Because I'm going to his place. That's a big, big step._

As earth-shattering as the day's events had been for him, at least he'd known in advance that they were going to meet today. His father hadn't had a clue.

"This must have been a really big shock to you, eh?" he asked.

His father laughed...not a humorous sort of laugh, but the kind that told Dean he didn't know the half of it. "Yeah, it was huge." He turned to look at Dean, and he smiled. "But good. Very, very good."

Dean looked down, ashamed, but he made himself look back up before speaking his heart. It was that pesky "honor" thing, again.

"Look...um...I'm sorry about earlier. I...I thought I was doing the right thing, but...I was wrong."

His father smiled and reached for him, giving him a gentle squeeze on the back of the neck, and letting his hand rest there for a few moments longer. "It worked out. We're still talking, right?"

Dean smiled. "Right."

They rode in silence again, but it seemed more comfortable now.

But then a new, disquieting thought began to percolate in his mind. _What if he has a girlfriend? Or a wife? Then I would really be intruding, wouldn't I? What would she think of meeting his son from his earlier marriage?_

He glanced over at his father, who seemed lost in thought, but quickly turned when he felt Dean's gaze.

"What's on your mind...Son?" A little smile flickered across his father's lips as he said "Son."

Dean looked down. "Well, I just hope I'm not intruding on...you know...you might have had plans...or even..." he shrugged, "...or even a family for all I know."

His father laughed a little. "No, no plans. And no family." Then his smile broadened. "Until today."

Dean had to look down while he absorbed the emotion of that moment.

"Though, it's not entirely true to say 'no family,'" his father continued. "My team is my family. But they don't live with me."

"Yeah, that would get crowded."

His father grinned.

"So, um...do you have a house or an apartment?"

"Apartment. I'm not a lawn-mowing kind of guy."

Dean nodded.

Silence reigned again.

"Um...have you lived in Toronto your whole life?" Dean ventured.

"Yep. It's definitely home." His father pointed to a street as they passed it. "The Lanes...you know, that's Ed and his family...live down there."

"Oh."

His father braked suddenly and pulled into a parking spot. But he didn't get out; he just sat and stared.

"Is something wrong?"

His father seemed to shake himself, and he turned to smile at Dean. "No, no, nothing's wrong. It's just..." he paused. "C'mon, let's get out."

The stepped out into the dusk, and Dean turned a full 360 to try to figure out why they'd stopped here. "Is this where you live?" It hardly seemed likely, considering the last-minute feel of the stop.

"No...not now. But does anything look familiar to you?"

Dean did another 360, more slowly this time. When he got back to where he'd started, his father put a hand on his shoulder and pointed to the small apartment building in front of him.

"That's where we used to live, back when we were all together." His eyes took on a faraway look. "Second floor."

Dean strained to see anything familiar, and he thought maybe he could. But he wasn't sure of anything.

When he looked back at his father, he saw a man in a reverie.

After a while he broke in. "Um...I'm sorry, but I...I can't be sure."

His father looked a little disappointed, but not angry or anything. "Well," he replied with a shrug, "it was a long time ago."

He suddenly grew animated again. "And look, look at this place! I bet you'll remember this!" He took Dean's elbow and led him to an ice cream shop next door to the apartment.

At first nothing registered, but then he noticed the red-cushioned spinning barstools, and his jaw dropped. "Oh yeah...yeah...you used to bring me here!" He looked at his father in wonder. And then, for a moment, he saw a younger face there...same features, but more slender, with fewer lines. And topped with hair.

"I remember!" he said, almost with awe.

His father's smile broke open like the morning sunrise. He patted Dean's back. Then he leaned over and spoke very quietly toward his ear. "The very first time I walked you over here, it was to celebrate your getting toilet trained."

Dean laughed, then looked around again with a lingering feeling of awe.

But something else was brewing in his soul, and it began to steal his joy. "I...I can't believe that I buried all of this. I mean...it's all there, all inside of me, but I haven't thought about any of it...haven't _let_ myself think about it...for so long!"

His father put an arm around his shoulders and gave a squeeze. "Hey now, this isn't about regrets. It's about connecting, all over again. Okay?"

Dean nodded, and decided to let his own sun break through again. "Okay."

They climbed back into the car and drove a little further on, maybe almost a mile. When his father turned into a parking lot this time, it seemed more automatic and natural than the last stop.

_This must be home._

Dean got out and took in the full 360 once more. His father waited patiently, and then put a hand on his back and gestured toward the lobby of a larger apartment building than the earlier one. They walked in.

"Hello, Greg!" someone said. Dean turned to see a gray-haired, grandmotherly woman sitting in a comfortable-looking armchair in a common area.

"Hi, Mrs. Goldsmith. Guess who this is!"

The woman peered at Dean and made a show of adjusting her glasses. "Well, he's an awfully handsome young man, so I'm guessing he's related to you!"

Dean blushed a little.

"See why I like her?" his father asked in a stage-whisper. Then, loud enough for the woman to hear, he said, "This is my son, Dean. He's visiting from Dallas."

"Your son?" The woman stood and walked over to look at him more closely. "Well, now, isn't that nice!" She patted Dean's cheek, and he looked sheepishly at his father.

"Your father's a good man, Dear. He helps me carry my groceries sometimes!"

Dean couldn't help smiling. "Yes, ma'am."

"Well, we'd better get upstairs," his father said. "My son is cooking dinner!"

"How wonderful!"

They retreated to the elevator. Dean ended up closest to the buttons, so he hovered his hand over them and looked questioningly at his father.

"Six."

Dean pushed the button, and before long he was following his father down a sixth floor hall toward his door.

His father's apartment was neat and tidy, and clearly lacking in any feminine touches. Dean surveyed the parts he could see and nodded his approval. "Nice."

His father indicated the kitchen with a flourish. "There's your domain, maestro. Show me your pasta magic!"

Dean looked down and laughed. "Dad..."

They both froze. It was the first time Dean had actually called him that.

They stood in awkward silence, and finally just let it pass.

"Listen," Dean continued. "I honestly don't know why I offered to cook pasta, it's not like I'm that great at it..."

"It's all those Italian genes of yours, of course." His father gave him a thump on the shoulder.

"Yeah, right." Dean rolled his eyes.

"What do you mean?" his father protested. He stopped in his tracks and turned to face Dean, his face suddenly serious, his eyes searching.

"Yeah, like 'Parker' is such an Italian name!" Dean shook his head. "Where's the pot, and the pasta, and the sauce?"

"Sauce from a jar? Your grandmother would be appalled." He pulled a pot out of a cabinet and set it on the stove.

"Why, was she some great cook?"

His father, despite his protests, pulled a jar of sauce down from another cabinet. But when he handed it to Dean, his expression seemed sad. "You really don't know, do you."

"Know what?"

"Anything about...about your family on _my_ side."

Dean paused with the jar of sauce suspended over the pot, not yet tilted enough to pour. "Um… well...I guess not." He sensed his father's sadness, and it made him feel very awkward. "Where's the pasta?"

"In here." His father fished a bag out of the pantry. "My mother would be horrified by that, too."

Dean finished emptying the jar into the pot. "Was she Italian or something?"

"One hundred percent! Born and raised. From a family that had been in Italy, well, _forever_." He pulled out another large pot, filled it with water, and added a pinch of salt.

"No kidding. So you're Italian, then."

"Yes, half. And you're one-quarter."

"I never, never knew that."

His father turned on the burner, leaned against the counter, and folded his arms. He looked bereft. His voice, when he spoke, was softer than usual.

"Your mother erased half your heritage. Tried to erase _me_."

Dean began to feel extremely uncomfortable again. "Um...well...why don't you tell me how our last name got to be 'Parker' if we're so Italian."

"My father, of course. Your grandfather." He studied Dean's face again, almost as intently as he had in those very first moments. "You know, you look a little like him."

Dean smiled just a little.

His father grabbed a pair of scissors and opened the bag of pasta. The water was beginning to hiss. "He absolutely loved Italy, loved everything Italian. Studied Italian in school, right near here, in Markham. He knew from the time he was a kid that he was going to move to Italy when he grew up. Do you want onions in the sauce?"

"Uh, yeah, sure, if it's not too much trouble."

His father grabbed a knife, a cutting board, and an onion, and he set to work. "So, my father moved to Italy as soon as he turned twenty, and pretty soon he fell in love with a gorgeous Italian charmer named Giovanna Fiorelli. They got married after a year or so, and before long I was on the way."

"You were born in Italy?"

"No, I was conceived there. Born here. My parents could never come up with stories that agreed on a reason why they moved here. I guess I'll never know. But Italian was the language of my home. I spoke it before I spoke English." He scraped the onions into the sauce.

"You're kidding me! Do you remember how to speak it now?"

"Sure. It's the only language I ever spoke with either of them. My father always figured I could learn English at school, so I'd better stick to Italian at home. Otherwise I might never keep that part of my heritage."

He dumped the noodles into the boiling water. "I have a lot of relatives that I know over there, and we talk on the phone. I've gone over there several times, more often since my mother moved back there after my father died."

"Wow, can you say something to me in Italian?"

His father paused and looked at him with a serious expression. He seemed to want to say the right thing, as if this little demonstration could really matter.

After a few moments he put his hands on Dean's shoulders, looked him square in the eyes, and said, "Mi sei mancato cosi terribilmente, figlio mio." His shoulders drooped, and he turned away.

Dean wasn't about to ask for a translation. He hardly knew how to react to his father's mood swings. Right now the man seemed truly depressed.

The sound of rapid boiling made them both jump. His father quickly turned the burner down and set the timer. He didn't look back at Dean. But Dean didn't have to see his eyes to know that the reservoir of pain was back.

Finally, Dean could stand the strain no longer. "I...I'm sorry if I asked the wrong things... Dad."

His father inhaled sharply and turned to face him. "No...no, Son. You didn't do anything wrong. Not at all." He gently patted Dean's cheek and offered him a sad smile.

_Sheesh, I hope he isn't always this moody. That would really stink_! But he pushed that thought aside with a reminder of all that his father had been through today.

_This has got to be seriously emotional for him. And he killed somebody just a little while ago._

_I can't even imagine what that's like for him._

Dean stirred the sauce through a long, silent interlude, so that his hands would have something to do. His father seemed completely lost in thought.

_Best to help him get it off his chest. Then maybe we can start enjoying each other again._

"Okay, then what's wrong?" Dean asked it nonchalantly, keeping his eyes on his work.

His father shook his head and gave him another sad smile that he could see out of the corner of his eye. "It's just...I hadn't expected to be so thoroughly erased, Dean." He reached into another cabinet for the colander and put it in the sink. Then he pulled down some jars of spices and dumped some of each into the well of his cupped hand before dropping them into the sauce. "It would almost be better to be hated than to be...to be absolutely _nothing_ to you_."_

Dean put a hand on his father's shoulder and gently turned him to face him.

When their eyes met and held, he spoke. "You're not erased, and you are far from 'nothing.' We're here, together. And I'm glad."

His father pulled him close for another hug. "I'm so thankful to you, Son. So thankful." He kissed Dean's forehead and held him for a while longer.

When he stepped back and looked in Dean's eyes again, he made a visibly conscious decision to shake off his blues.

"You're right. It's foolish of me to waste our time together by crying over spilled milk."

The timer rang, and he reached over to turn it off. "Let's have some spaghetti, Son. Together."

Next: Chapter 4 – So Afraid to Love You


	4. Chapter 4 - So Afraid to Love You

Chapter 4

So Afraid to Love You

They served up heaping plates of spaghetti and carried them to the table.

"Oops, let me get the Parmesan." Dean's father walked back to the kitchen. He spoke his next words into the fridge while rummaging around.

"Hey, do your mom and stepdad know you're here?" He headed back to the table with cheese in hand, and with a worried expression on his face. "I can't believe I didn't think to ask before. I guess this whole thing has thrown me more than I realized."

"It's okay. I called my dad...my stepdad...while you were out on that 911 call. He said...well..."

His father sat with elbows on the edge of the table, giving Dean his total attention. When Dean hesitated, he gave him an encouraging nod. "What did he say?"

Dean had to struggle to keep eye contact now. "He was shocked, and worried, but he just said to call him if...if I needed him to come get me."

Dean's father leaned back against the seatback and blew out his cheeks in a heavy sigh. Then he sat, staring into space, his expression a cross between bemusement and sorrow.

"What on earth do they think I might do to you?" he murmured.

When he finally looked back at Dean, sorrow had won out on his face. "What kind of monster did she tell you I was?"

Dean looked down, struggling against a rising sense of panic.

His father's hand came to rest, gently, on his forearm. "I'm sorry, Son. I shouldn't have put you on the spot like that. You don't have to answer that question." He gestured toward Dean's plate. "Let's eat, and let's enjoy it." He patted Dean's arm and gave him a smile...a small but honest smile that didn't demand any pretense in return.

_It's awkward, but he's willing to meet me halfway. _

_What more could I reasonably ask?_

Dean nodded with a little smile of his own, and dug into his food.

It turned out that "enjoying it" was easy. Dean started to wolf his food down enthusiastically. "This is really good!"

"Italian hands dumped those spices in!"

"Oh, is that the secret?" Dean smiled, and it felt good to do it, especially when his father smiled in return. But he couldn't pause his eating for long. He'd been hungrier than he realized.

His father ate heartily, too. He started out more slowly than Dean had, but apparently discovered his appetite pretty quickly.

Dean saw that he had a good conversation starter here. "You must really be hungry after that 911 call. It was intense!"

"Yeah, it was." His father nodded. "To be honest, I'm kind-of surprised that Winnie let you listen. Did you hear the whole thing?"

"Yeah. But please don't blame her. She wanted to turn the sound off when the shooting first began, but I begged her not to. And I'm glad she didn't. That call is the reason I stayed. It's the reason I'm here. And I hate to think what I would be missing if I'd left."

His father pushed his empty plate away, sat back in his chair, and studied Dean's face. "What...what was it that made you stay?"

Dean instantly knew the answer, but he felt terribly shy about mentioning the heartbroken words his father had said to the 911 operator. Finally he decided to settle on a generic answer. "I guess...I just saw how much you care about people, that's all. I hadn't expected it." He instantly regretted that last part.

His father's face clearly registered the pain of its implications. But he did not close down. Instead, he touched Dean's arm again. "Thank you. I can't tell you how glad I am."

Dean's phone beeped, and he fished it out of his pocket. "Sorry."

"No, no, by all means."

He read his stepdad's text message with a sinking heart. "Your mom knows something's up. She's getting upset. Going to have to tell her soon. How's it going?"

"Dean, I need you to level with me. Are you getting in any kind of trouble for being here?" His father had leaned close, but without intruding or trying to read his message. His whole demeanor had changed the moment he'd grown concerned for Dean's well-being. He radiated selfless concern, gentle care, quiet strength.

Dean considered for a moment, and then simply handed the phone to his father. Something about that man made him want to trust him, and made him want to earn trust in return.

His father read the message, and his concern visibly deepened. "I hadn't realized that your mother didn't know."

"Dad had agreed that it was wise not to tell her...at least not until I'd had a chance to think about what to say." He shrugged. "But I kind-of forgot to think about it."

His father handed the phone back. "You need to tell her, Son."

Once again, Dean felt the pressure of honor. He nodded. "You're right." But he was happy to let his stepdad convey the message. Face-to-face didn't even cross his mind this time.

He typed, "Just ate dinner at Greg's apt. Going fine." He hit "Send," and then continued in a new text. "Pls tell her I hope she will understand why I needed to do this."

He started to put his phone away, but then thought better of it, and handed it to his father. He studied the expressions that crossed his father's face as he read the words.

He saw sadness and concern, but not disapproval.

"I need to take you back to Shelby's," his father said softly.

"No, no rush," Dean protested quickly.

His father closed the phone and handed it back to Dean. "She hasn't replied yet. When she does, you may feel differently."

Dean sighed and shook his head. "Look...Dad..." he chose that word very carefully, and looked his father full in the eyes as he said it. It hit home, as he'd hoped it would.

"Dad," he repeated, "I feel like today has turned my whole world upside-down, in a really good way. I...I'm not going to rub Mom's face in it, okay? But I'm not going to let anything keep me from getting better acquainted with you." He suddenly feared he might have crossed a line, so he hastily added, "as long as YOU want to get better acquainted, that is."

His father smiled, but sadly. He looked down at the table for a few moments.

Dean began to feel a sick knot in his gut. _Please don't say 'No,' please!_

When his father looked up again, his eyes were moist.

"Dean, today you made my greatest dream come true. I've missed you so much..." His face broke up, and he hastily left the table.

Dean quickly rose to his feet with some alarm. But he stayed by the table, not wanting to intrude on his father's chosen privacy.

His father went into a side room and shut the door.

Dean didn't know what it meant or what to do, and he grew more worried by the minute.

His phone stayed quiet, and that began to worry him, too. _No news is NOT good news, not this time. She must be screaming her head off at him._

He felt terribly antsy, and to make matters worse, he really had to go to the bathroom, and he didn't know where it was. For all he knew, it might have been the room that his father closed himself into.

_Would he be upset if he came out of that room, and I was right nearby? Would he think I was trying to eavesdrop?_

Finally he walked back into the kitchen and peered around until he spotted the bathroom. It was open and empty, so he hurried in.

When he came out, his father was waiting for him in the kitchen. He seemed fairly well collected, but his eyes were still wet.

"I'm so sorry, Son. I didn't mean to break down like that."

Dean shrugged. "It's okay. I mean...I'd hate it if I came back into your life after ten years and you thought it was a big yawn...right?"

His father put a hand on his cheek, then wrapped his arms around him and hugged him again.

This time, Dean did not hesitate to return the hug.

The hug lasted more than a few moments, but once released, Dean didn't feel the sense of relief that he'd felt when earlier hugs had ended. His father was as physically demonstrative as the Italian stereotypes that Dean had heard about. His mother was also a toucher, but his stepdad wasn't. He was very affectionate, but a pat on the shoulder, or an arm across the shoulders, was as physical as it ever got. That and, of course, the very occasional hug.

But Dean was already becoming comfortable with these new, fatherly demonstrations. And he was glad.

Even after his father broke off the hug, he still held Dean's shoulders in his hands. "Son, there's something I need you to understand." He looked down, clearly struggling with himself.

"Should we go sit down?" Dean suggested.

"Ok, yeah." They walked to the living room and sat side-by-side on the sofa. His father still seemed to be fighting an internal battle.

"Dean, today I faced men with guns...well, I do that a lot...but right now I'm more scared than I usually am during life threatening situations at work."

Dean's brow furrowed. "Why?"

"Because this matters more, and I don't trust myself not to mess it up." With obvious difficulty, he made himself look into Dean's eyes. "I...I made a lot of mistakes in the past, Dean...mistakes that cost me the people I loved most. And there is nothing, not even death, that's more frightening to me than losing the ones I love most."

"Mom said you were a drunk, but I don't think you still are."

"That's true, I'm not. But...while I've spent the past ten years making myself a better person, I've done most of that in uniform. I know who I am in uniform. I know my responsibilities. I have rules to follow. I have a history of success, Dean...not perfect success, not by a long shot...but enough success that I'm respected and trusted. But I don't have that kind of history as a father."

He looked down at his hands. "I was nothing but a failure as a father, Dean, and that's the worst pain of my life. And now..." He looked back up, quickly, gazing deeply into Dean's eyes. "Please, please don't misunderstand me! I'm thrilled that you're back. Absolutely. It's just that now I have to face the biggest fear of my life."

"What's that?"

"The fear that...that kicking alcohol and becoming a success...becoming a better man at work...maybe it wasn't enough. Maybe I still won't have what it takes to be a good father to you." He put a hand on Dean's shoulder again. "But I want to try. I hope you'll still let me try, even though I've been a bit of a basket case this evening. I am sorry."

Dean looked away. His father's raw pain and fear, which most men would have hidden, made him terribly uncomfortable.

And yet, he admired his father's courage, more than he could fully absorb right now.

"Listen...Dad...I can't imagine how hard this has been for you. And besides..." he finally looked at his father again. "...I know that you...that you had to kill that man tonight. That's got to be rough, especially after I sprang all of that stuff on you. I don't blame you for being... overwhelmed."

His father looked down, but he actually wore a small smile again. He looked back at Dean after a moment. "I'm glad you understand that that was painful for me...having to kill that man. A lot of people get the idea that cops find killing easy. We don't, and I'm glad you know that."

"So," Dean continued after a short pause, "why don't we just admit that tonight is awkward, but it's good. And we can let it be awkward, and that's okay. It will get easier every time, right?"

A slow smile spread over his father's face. He nodded and put a hand on Dean's cheek. "Next time. I like the sound of that."

Dean smiled back, but soon his father turned away and looked at nothing again.

_At least he seems peaceful now._

Silence reigned for several long moments.

"So..." his father clapped his hands together and then rubbed them a little nervously, it seemed. "What do you want to do?"

"You got any pictures?"

His father's eyes widened. "Yeah! Oh yeah, definitely!" He jumped to his feet and hurried to a bookshelf in the hallway. His words continued to trip over themselves in their eagerness to express his enthusiasm. "Absolutely, that's a great idea! Can't wait to look at these with you!" And yet, when he sat down beside Dean with the albums, he hesitated. His emotions welled up again, though they didn't spill over. "Wow...wow...I can't believe this is happening." He gave Dean a broad smile, and opened the first album across their two laps.

Soon Dean was utterly absorbed in the very first photo. It was an image he never could have imagined. His mom and Greg Parker, cheek to cheek, facing the camera with huge, happy smiles.

_She loved him once. She actually loved him!_ It was hard for Dean to even take that fact in.

"That was the day we got engaged." His father's voice, full of poignancy, almost surprised Dean. He'd forgotten anyone else existed.

Wedding pictures followed. All the usual clichéd poses, but all with apparently genuine smiles on both of their faces. _This feels so unreal..._

"Hey, that's Ed!" Dean pointed at the Best Man in sudden recognition.

"Yeah, we go way back." His dad smiled. "See? There's the hair I told you about."

Dean laughed. In this photo, at least, Ed's fine head of hair gave no indication that it was going to disappear someday.

Dean slowly absorbed the wedding scenes, trying to reconcile them with his mother's pure hatred of Greg Parker now. His father let him look in silence.

More happy shots, these in obvious tourist poses. The location shots quickly impressed him with their beauty. "Where were these taken?"

His father leaned closer and looked at the photos with his heart as much as his eyes. "Our honeymoon. Banff."

Dean had never heard of Banff, but that strange word hardly registered with him anyway. The word "honeymoon" always sent his adolescent mind in uncomfortable directions, but the idea of _this_ honeymoon, with _these two people,_ nearly short-circuited his brain. He chose to focus on the scenery in those shots, and not think about them further than that.

Soon he found photos of his father's early days in uniform...an ordinary Toronto PD uniform, with red-banded hat. He refrained from commenting on how silly he thought the red bands looked. Dallas cops wore nothing of the kind.

And then there were photos of his mom with an ever-growing "baby bump."

Dean pointed at it. "That's me, huh?"

"Yep."

Dean glanced at his father, recognizing a whole range of emotion in that single syllable. But despite the depth of his feelings, his father seemed okay.

Dean spotted more photos of Ed, this time with a pregnant woman by his side. "What's her name?" he asked.

"Sophie." His father smiled. "Great gal!"

Dean just nodded. He could almost remember her now.

_Yes, I do remember. I just have to give myself permission to._

"Oh, and guess what?" his father asked.

"What?"

"Ed and Sophie are expecting another baby!"

Dean's brow furrowed. "Really? Wow. Are there any more besides Clark and this new one?"

"Nope."

Dean looked back down at the photos, still shaking his head. "I can't imagine getting a baby brother or sister at my age."

Labor room images caught Dean's attention next. He looked up quickly. "Are there any here that I wouldn't want to see?"

His father laughed aloud. "No, your mom never would have gone for those kinds of shots. And neither would I."

"Good!"

He recognized some of the baby photos. His mom had the same ones. But there were plenty he had never seen, and the reason was obvious.

His father was in those shots.

_She did try to erase you._

Dean almost forgot everything again as he looked at photos of his infant relationship with the man who now sat beside him. "You looked so happy! I hadn't pictured you ever being happy," he murmured.

"I was, back then. You and your mom were the light of my life." His voice still brimmed with both joy and sorrow.

"There are so _many_ pictures of the two of us!"

"Does that surprise you?"

Dean shrugged. "I never saw any. And...well...I had the impression that you weren't really a family kind of guy."

"Are you kidding?" The sorrow was back, though not overwhelmingly so. "I couldn't get enough of you guys! How could she..." his voice trailed off without completing the question, almost as if he'd answered it already in his mind.

The sorrow grew palpably deeper. Dean could feel it coming at him in waves, though his father made no obvious expressions of it.

"I guess..." he murmured at last, "...no...it's definitely true. At the end I wasn't good for much, wasn't there for either of you. I guess I can't blame her..." He trailed off again.

Dean wanted to lighten the mood, and he quickly found the photo to do it. "Aw jeez, why do parents have to do that?"

His father looked and laughed aloud, just as he'd hoped he would. "The traditional naked baby picture. It's a parent thing. You'll do it too, when you have kids."

Dean shook his head vigorously. "No way. I won't do that."

His father just chuckled.

Picture after picture followed of father and son enjoying each other. Feedings, first with a bottle, and then with a spoon (and all the related mess). Baby Dean sleeping on his father's chest. Toddler Dean riding on his father's back like a pony, or going piggyback on his shoulders. Preschool Dean wearing his father's red-banded Toronto PD hat. _I guess I liked how it looked back then._

But Dean began to notice the difference...the change in the smiles in his father's photos. As the years went by, the smile got further and further from his eyes, until it was clearly only posed. The eyes took on a desperate, sometimes hollow look.

Beside him, his father grew noticeably tense.

Dean turned to look at him. "What happened, Dad?"

He sighed. "The pain of the job. It was just too much for me back then. I didn't know how to cope with it, and I made the worst mistake of my life. I turned to the bottle for comfort. Dumb, dumb mistake. Don't ever do it, please."

"Believe me, Mom has always drilled that into my head."

"Well, I hope you're listening. It only makes things worse. Much, _much_ worse."

"Did it start because you had to kill someone, like tonight?"

"No." His father looked down at his hands and said nothing more for several long moments.

"Dad, I'd really like to understand. I mean...all my life I've heard the worst, but never any reasons, never any explanation. And I think it would help to understand."

"Well...the fact is...it all started when you were two years old. Some men, three of them, early twenties...except one was only eighteen..." He stopped and looked at Dean. "Only two years older than you are now. How can anyone so young be so evil?"

"What did they do?" Dean prompted, when it became apparent that the narrative had stalled.

His father shook himself. "They kidnapped a two year old. A little boy who looked a lot like you did. And they...did terrible, unimaginable things to that baby. We searched and searched for him, and when we found him, and I saw what shape he was in, and what had happened to him...something just broke inside of me. I mean, I already had dealt with a lot of tragedy. Accidental deaths, drug overdoses, kids stuck in terrible homes, child abuse of every kind, and covering it all like a blanket, the universal contempt that the public feels for cops whenever we're not dying on the job. It was all terribly painful. But I always felt like _I_ was okay, despite it all. But after we found that baby...I'm telling you, I could almost feel a physical breaking inside my heart. And after that, I just knew that there was nothing I could do to make the world a good place. Nothing I could do to make it safe for you. Nothing could...could restore what I had lost that day. Nothing could fill the emptiness."

He paused, looking somewhere far away. But then he shook himself back to the present and looked at Dean. "I had already started drinking a little too much, but it went big-league after that."

"How did you ever get your life turned around?"

"Well, it took years, and it would probably take years to tell about it. But it boils down to people who love me, coming alongside and supporting me, helping me find my way. And others who inspired me by coming through hard times themselves." His eyes took on a faraway look. "I remember a moment...I think it was really pivotal. A moment when I realized that reaching out to others, caring about them, risking the hurt of _connecting_ was what made life worthwhile. I'd been withdrawing, and by doing that, I'd been robbing myself of healing. Connecting was healing."

"But you're still tempted to withdraw when it's family, not work," Dean noted matter-of-factly.

His father's jaw dropped, and he stared at Dean as if he couldn't believe what he'd said.

"Well," Dean quickly backpedaled, "I mean..."

"No, don't worry, what you said was exactly right. _Exactly _right. I'm just stunned. You seem wise beyond your years, Son."

Dean just shrugged.

His father's gaze became intense. "I don't want to pull back from you, Son. I want to take the risk. I know it will be worth it."

"Me too."

Dean's phone beeped. He fished it out of his pocket and looked at it with a feeling of dread.

"I've told her," the text began. "It's bad. Come home. Meet me at the bus stop near Shelby's corner."

He showed the phone to his father, hating what had to happen next. "I don't want this to end, Dad, but it has to."

"Yeah, definitely." His father stood brusquely, like a man accustomed to facing unpleasant duties without flinching. Which, of course, he was.

"How long will you be in Toronto, Son?"

Dean grimaced. "We leave the day after tomorrow, first thing. And I doubt my mom will let me come see you tomorrow."

His father shook his head. "No, I'm sure she won't." He kept his eyes locked with Dean's as he, too, rose to his feet. "I don't want this to end either, Son."

"I know, but Dad, I still want you to drop the lawsuit..."

His father's face fell, and his breathing instantly came short. His eyes shone with sudden agony.

Dean rushed to clarify. "No no no no...I don't mean it like that. Not like that at all." He walked closer, but his father didn't reach out to him this time. His pain-filled eyes remained receptive, searching, but very much afraid.

"Dad..." Dean hesitated for a moment, and then shyly reached to put his hands on his father's shoulders. For all the touching that had happened today, this was the first that he'd initiated.

His father drew in a deep breath, eyes still locked with Dean's, responding to the unexpected touch with an apparent willingness to hope...but not with _actual_ hope. For that, he waited.

Dean let his hands stay on those very human shoulders.

"Dad, I want you to drop the lawsuit because I never want there to be any doubt in your mind why you're back in my life."

He could see the wheels turning behind his father's eyes now. Gentle hands tentatively reached up, and briefly touched his elbows.

"If you kept up the lawsuit, you might always feel that you'd forced your way into my life. And I admit, that's the way I thought of it before I got to know you." He shook his head, struggling to put such profound feelings into words. "But when you drop the lawsuit, you'll know that you're in my life because I _want_ you to be. And I really, really want you to be...Dad."

His father's eyes pooled. He shook his head, looked down, looked back up, laughed a little, and then grabbed Dean into a hug that nearly crushed him.

Dean felt choked up, but he kept his equilibrium as he returned the hug with all his heart.

But then his father's whisper melted all his defenses. "Oh, my son, my son, my son..." the words came out in a quiet sob.

Dean felt his own breath catch. _How could I not have known how much I needed you?_

He let his own tears fall, and his father responded by holding him even closer, swaying a little with that instinctive need to keep the hug active and alive.

And then a new thought tacked itself onto that one; a thought with a whole new feeling of wonder and joy.

_I never dreamed how much you would need me!_


End file.
